Tornado Weather
by Stratocruiser
Summary: You know how sometimes you can't imagine how things could get worse? For Hawkeye Pierce, they just did.
1. Chapter 1

"God watches over fools," smiled BJ as he scanned the skies. "And we're the biggest fools of all."

"Right."

Hawkeye Pierce wasn't having a great day. Not that any day in Korea could be considered great, wonderful or even just middling. This was one of the ones that would remain in his mind after the war, not molded together with most of the rest.

Exhibit A.

Major Winchester decided to open up a can of expensive kippers at four in the morning, three hours after all of them wrapped up two days straight of surgery. If there's one smell Hawkeye hated, it was those miserable canned fish.

"Charles! What the hell is wrong with you! The whole tent smells like low tide!" he screeched upon getting a whiff of this late night snack.

Charles chuckled. "It is overpowering the stench from your feet, something I have to abide on a daily basis. This is a mere inconvenience."

Outside a cat began to meow. Pretty soon, a group of them were howling and fighting, trying to get into the tent to track down where the scent was coming from.

"Goodnight, gentlemen," Charles yawned, placing the open can on ground and climbing back into bed. Hawkeye was deep in his covers, trying to mask the scent. One of the cats, an orange tabby known around the camp as Buzzard, managed to squeeze in through a crack in the tent door. As all the denizens of the Swamp dozed, Buzzard found the tin, ate what was left and curled up between BJ's feet. BJ, being allergic to cats, woke up stuffed to the rafters and covered in orange fur. He was not in the best of moods. Neither was Charles when he found his cologne had been replaced with syrup.

Exhibit B.

The weather. It was hot like Hades. The sky boiled and Potter said there were cyclone warnings coming in from HQ. Potter was used to weather like this. Hawkeye wasn't. Oh, give him a blizzard and he'll out shovel everyone, but tornados? Several of the enlisted men were digging trench shelters just in case.

Exhibit C.

Margaret Houlihan. She was making Hawkeye downright chilly with her cold shoulder. And he worried about her. She was drinking much more than usual since "the red party". They danced a lot that night. They talked a lot too. She wanted to hear about Crabapple Cove, so he told her everything his drunk mind could recall.

But then asked about her childhood. Somewhere in Margaret's mind a door slammed shut. She left, presumably to get some sleep, but sightings of her outside the OR and the Mess Tent were few and far between. He missed her. Somewhere in the deep recesses of Hawkeye Pierce's heart a match light had been struck and was burning non-stop. If you asked, he'd deny it.

Only BJ knew it was there. He was just too good to say anything about it. He saw the way they looked at each other.

The two of them went to breakfast, where they heard about the cyclones and heard Charles yell about his cologne all the way across camp.

"I'm a New Englander. Syrup smells so much better than woman repellant he normally uses," Hawkeye frowned, sniffing his oatmeal.

"Et tu, Brute," said BJ, frowning at his coffee. "I guess we're at the mercy of mother nature…and…"

"Pepto Bismol," Hawkeye finished, pushing his tray away. He was feeling deeply unwell. Potter came clomping by, Radar in tow.

"You boys pass word to Charles and Margaret to know where the closest trench is at all times. I don't like this weather one bit."

BJ talked about fools. Hawkeye felt like it was stamped on his forehead. The day was just getting started and about to take a turn for the worse.


	2. Chapter 2

"Move 'em out and Klinger, your slip's showing," barked Potter.

"Aye aye, Colonel," Klinger saluted smartly before pulling it up. His outfit was from the Ava Gardner collection, very low-cut on top and tight in the skirt. His hairy knees stuck out like doorknobs. He struggled with stretchers, due to his unfortunately high heels.

All the wounded were headed out. Potter didn't want to risk it. Hawkeye hopped on the bus to chat with them. One was from Augusta.

"You'll be home eating blueberry pie in no time. Have the biggest slice you can for me, okay?"

The private smiled. His family was dirt poor and soon he'd be back in the potato fields, head injury or not. Hawkeye knew this may be last time in his life he'd get good medical care. It was hard to imagine the Army as an oasis from hard work and strife, but for some it was almost a respite.

The tension in the atmosphere seemed to be rising. Zephyrs of wind ruffled the flags and kicked up dust devils . Across the 4077th, everything that could be nailed down was fastened, bolted or tied. Sandbags were stacked in pyramids and long, flat boards were put in place over the trench shelters for extra security.

Amid all this, Father Mulcahy was tending his little garden, patiently watering the tender stalks and pulling weeds. Hawkeye admired the man for his steadfastness. The garden was obviously going to be a flop. The soil was dusty and turned to clay when water hit it. Still, the good Father was out there in all his spare time, humming and smiling.

"Hey Father, how's it coming?"

"Oh good, Hawkeye. These tomato plants are coming along. I do so miss fresh vegetables, especially tomato sandwiches on pumpernickel with a little salt, pepper and butter. Somehow our creamed turnips just don't compare."

Hawkeye smiled. "I need some advice, I know I don't always come to you for it, but I can't ask BJ because it's kind of, touchy."

Father Mulcahy stood up and looked at him expectantly.

"I have this acquaintance who is really down. It's not just the war, it's life. And I can't seem to cheer them up. I care about her, I mean, well, I just care a lot more than I think this person realizes."

Mulcahy knew who he was talking about. Small camp. He sighed and started to clean his glasses. "Hawkeye, you know, when it comes to colleagues, I always say it's okay to put your heart on the line. If they are friends, they'll understand and maybe even admire you for it."

Hawkeye just stared. This made Mulcahy nervous. "Just be there. A lot of people around here enjoy your friendship, myself included. But you can be a little…intense, " he gulped.

"Okay," Hawkeye said softly. Privately he thought that was worst advice ever. Why was he going to a Catholic priest for insight into women? "Thank you. And good luck with your tomatoes. Save me one, all right?"

Mulcahy waved his spade and got back to work. There was nothing to do except take a nap, so Hawkeye started to head back to the Swamp. He passed Margaret's door and stopped for a minute, wondering if he should knock. He was so busy wondering that when the door swung open, he almost fell backwards. A very disheveled Margaret squinted out at him.

"What?" was all she asked. The bags under her eyes had bags. The scent of stale liquor hung in the air, much like the stench that swamped the Swamp. She was much to pale, much too tired and much too thin. He couldn't think of anything to say and apparently, neither could she. They stared at each other for a moment and then the door shut and Margaret was gone.

Did that just happen? Hawkeye was a bit shaken up by the encounter and more than annoyed that he felt so helpless. He wished he had something to give her, some insight, but his demons were widely known. She wouldn't take advice from him at all.

Back in The Swamp, BJ was slowly dismantling the still when Hawkeye walked in. "Precious cargo," was all he'd say. Hawkeye just shrugged and hopped on his bunk, wishing he could sleep but knowing he couldn't. The air outside had grown still and stagnant and the heat seemed to intensify.

"Hawk, have you seen Margaret today? Seems like she's not gracing us with her delicate, quiet presence much lately."

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell BJ about their recent encounter. The time just didn't seem right. BJ would want details. "I think the fair Major is catching up on her beauty sleep, and who am I to barge in on that uninvited?" Hawkeye said, hoping the neutrality in his voice would belie his concern.

"She seems to be having a rough go of it. I guess when she wants company, she'll come find it. Our flaps are always open - …"

"…and our things are always hanging out," finished Hawkeye. Charles walked in, eating a sandwich.

"Ah, you two are a regular cyclone of cutting wit," Charles sniffed.

"Is that a meatloaf sandwich, Charles? With ketchup and onion? Be still my beating heart," said Hawkeye, ignoring the put-down.

"That is correct. Klinger is handing them out for lunch as we speak."

Margaret once said meatloaf sandwiches were her favorite Army food. BJ didn't seem interested in heading to the Mess Tent, so Hawkeye thought he'd grab one and a cup of coffee as a peace offering for her.

The compound was quiet. He walked by one of the trenches and shivered internally about spending any time in the cramped little spaces. Radar and Potter were outside, nervously scanning the skies. "See that cloud son? That's a wall cloud. Could have gone the rest of my life without seeing one. Damn, this isn't good, " said the Colonel, loudhailer in hand. "Glad I took Sophie out to pasture. She'll have to have some horse sense in this weather to run it out."

Radar had seen plenty of tornadoes in his young life. "I would give anything for a storm shelter right now. Mom would wake us all up in the middle of the night and send us out to it, just like the one in 'Wizard Of Oz'."

Hawkeye looked at the sky with them for a while, then made his way into the Mess Tent. All that was left was bread. Typical. He had just grabbed a coffee cup when a commotion broke out.

"Everyone to a trench! On the double! Tornado!" yelled Potter. Off somewhere in the distance, a crack of thunder punctuated the moment. Hawkeye stuck his head out the door and witnessed everyone diving into the trenches like moles. He slammed the cup down and took off toward his tent, but then he had a dark thought.

What if Margaret was so out of it she couldn't hear Potter yelling on the loudhailer, the screams of the nurses, the distant wail of the wind? In a flash, he was at her door, knocking, then yelling and then finally kicking it off the hinges. Margaret was a lump on her cot, so Hawkeye grabbed her before she could even stir. The wind was getting louder now.

Given her awkward angle and unresponsiveness, you can almost forgive what happened next. Hawkeye ran Margaret's head straight into the door frame with a splintering crack. "Yeooooooooowwwwwwwwww!" she moaned. He didn't let the sudden deceleration stop him. The closest trench was two steps from her door. Margaret was unceremoniously thrown in and Hawkeye jump in beside her, pausing long enough to pull the boards and sandbags over the top. He squinted to see Margaret's moaning figure in the darkness and silently prayed the walls wouldn't close in on both of them.


	3. Chapter 3

"You best pray."

Colonel Potter looked around in the dim light of the trench. BJ, Radar, Father Mulcahy and others who were imbibing just moments ago at Rosie's were now in a tight huddle as the winds swirled overhead. BJ's mouth was moving as Mulcahy did the Lord's Prayer over and over. The sandbags on top of the trench began moving around and Potter joined in too, praying for the people in the other trenches, for Klinger and Hawkeye and Margaret and the rest of the nurses.

Roughly half of the nurses were jammed in a smaller trench with Klinger. He was being clutched in what seemed a thousand different places but it wasn't altogether unpleasant. "We're off to see the Wizard!" he yelled, hoping to calm their nerves.

This brought on a happy memory of his dates at the Orpheum with Laverne. She loved those corny Andy Hardy movies with Judy Garland. It was, what, a dollar for the two of them to see all the movies, cartoons, popcorn, soda, the works. Klinger closed his eyes and smiled as the sandbags began to lift slightly from their perch above his head.

Hawkeye and Margaret weren't smiling at all. He clutched at the sides of the suffocating walls. She was scared out of her wits, disoriented and balled up in the corner with her hands over her ears. In his manic movements, Hawkeye tripped over her leg and landed heavily beside her. "Sorry", he said, breathing heavily.

"Are you okay?" she screamed over the wind.

Everything covering the top of their trench began to shift. Margaret gasped and reached out for him in the darkness. From nearby a rip and a crash meant the water tower toppled. The noise grew louder. Hawkeye threw her on the floor and shielded her body with his. For a moment he thought about how they comforted each other in that hut, how warm her body felt, how much passion resided there. He could feel her breath hitch now and knew there were tears, but where he reached down to cradle her face, he felt blood flowing from her forehead.

Charles took stock from his private trench near the Swamp. Water from the fallen tower began to trickle in, covering him with mud. It was a pity, he thought, none of the nurses made it this far, but that would have meant less room for his personal effects. When the excitement began, Charles tossed his records and booze in his foot locker and slid into the trench on top of it. Now there was just a matter of keeping everything dry. He didn't care about tornados. What's another personal affront when his whole being the past months centered on dehumanizing the things he loved so dear? He felt his way around and opened a bottle of brandy. "Cheers to you, Mother Nature. Howl, damn wind, howl," he smiled, holding the bottle up as a toast.

Radar was surrounded by nervous women, a priest, a Colonel and a doctor. All of it sounded like the beginning of a travelling salesman joke. _Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts._ In Iowa, summer meant storms but once you get used to them, they're not so bad. Even if the power went out, his ma would serve dinner on the porch. Fresh corn, leftover chicken, bread, pie, delicious milk. They still had the old gas stove because of all this. After the meal, Uncle Ed would light a kerosene lamp and they'd sit in the kitchen and play cards. Sometimes they'd have to use the storm shelter, but that was okay. The lanterns lit the place well and they'd all doze off as the wind whistled. The shelter, the white house, the cornfields and Ottumwa seemed so far away now, like another lifetime.

"Radar, where's Bigelow?" boomed Colonel Potter, breaking him out of his memories. Radar remembered she was beside him when they pulled the trench top over.

"She's right here! I have her by the elbows."

"Radar, those aren't my elbows."

"Oh sorry! Sorry!"

Hawkeye took a shaky breath and sat up. Margaret got up slowly and moved away from him. "I can take care of myself, you know," she said hollowly.

"I don't doubt it, but you've got a head wound."

He took off his army shirt and then his white undershirt. It would have to do as a bandage because it was the cleanest thing he had on. The walls were starting to close in and the wind was unbelievable above them. Margaret's eyes sparkled in the darkness as he moved closer. "I can…take care…," she sputtered.

He knew. She was the most independent woman ever. Hawkeye leaned beside her and wrapped the shirt around her head, using his hand to put pressure over the wound. He wondered if she knew he was crying. This was his disaster, and Margaret had been hurt by too many men, doorframe mishaps or not. "Talk to me," he urged, hoping she wouldn't pass out. "Tell me about you."

"I don't want to," she said, turning away. Hawkeye sat against the trench beside her and his tears wouldn't stop flowing.

"Damn you Margaret. You open up a little, then pull down your Goddamn shade and push me away. It hurts. A lot."


	4. Chapter 4

Rain pattered on the boards covering them. There was no light at all, not even a crack from where the earth had worn away around the edges of the trench. Through his teary eyes, he could just barely make out Margaret's form, slumped against the wall. Her breaths were jagged.

"I didn't have a childhood. It was push, push, push, go,go,go. Always on the move from pillar to post to post. Anytime I'd make friends we'd leave. I never even had a damn bicycle," she said. "I hear everyone talking about the friends and lovers they left behind. I'm here. This is all I've got. There's nothing in my wake."

Hawkeye shifted. He was cautious.

"After Frank and Donald I'm tired. I'm so damn tired. I'll just back to being who I was when the whole thing's over and done," she sniffled, her voice growing progressively weaker.

"Hey Margaret, I'm tired too, but I'm not going to shut people out. And I'm sorry about your childhood. Mine was fine until my mom died," he said.

"Oh, Hawkeye, I forgot about that. How did you and your dad pull through?"

"We just did the best we could. Not like the hurt wasn't there. It was there all the time. I still think of him, coming home after she died, having to clean out her things, seeing her clothes, shampoo. I can't imagine how he handled it."

He felt her move close. Margaret's soft hand covered his. "Pierce, sometimes you're a pain. Sometimes you're an insufferable drunk who throws up on people…"

"Sorry," he said, remembering an incident about a month prior.

"…but sometimes you're…well, I…"

She kissed his cheek. Hawkeye thanked God the trench was so dark because he felt a blush creep up his cheeks. Margaret sighed softly and leaned against him, still holding his hand. A thought, a simple fleeting odd thought popped up in his head. _We'd have pretty babies._ For a guy who usually vocalized everything, he showed an odd bit of restraint. Why would a sane person think like that, trapped in a leaky ditch with a woman who was possibly talking out of her head due to a wound?

Hawkeye kept his mouth shut. A sickly green light now enveloped them. Margaret clutched him tighter as the wind began to rise again. "For what it's worth, I don't regret us," he said.

"Neither do I," she replied, and he felt her smile.

Hawkeye leaned back, pulling her into his lap and she rested her head on his chest. He thought of his family home, the big white Victorian by the ocean, full of his history. Margaret's breathing evened out. The rain began again but the wind died down. After a few minutes, he dozed too, feeling almost content but wanting nothing more to let Margaret get her rest in that big house, to let her finally put down roots.

A few trenches away, Potter tentatively lifted the top off his little hidey-hole and looked out. The sky was still stormy but it didn't have that unsettled look anymore. The camp was battered. The water tower was smashed and the mess tent was completely off its foundation. Other tents were either non-existent or torn to bits.

"Great horny toads," he sighed. The others were eager to hear about the damage, but he just didn't have it in his heart at that moment. "Let's stay down here for another fifteen minutes or so, until I'm sure the coast is clear."


	5. Chapter 5

As the mud pooled around them from the driving rain, Hawkeye dreamed of home.

In summer Crabapple Cove was crowded with tourists. Hawkeye and his friends would hang out in front of Lovell's Drug Store, eyeing the girls from out of town. They were twelve so none of them would ever dare to speak to any of them. Just the occasional wolf whistle would do for now.

He thought he saw her in the crowd, long blonde hair, green eyes, big smile. He swore he could even smell the Woodhue perfume she'd wear sometimes. Hawkeye began walking towards this apparition but remembered he was only twelve and Korea hadn't happened yet. So, he hung back.

"Mama, mama! Can I have some money for lemonade?" shouted a little voice. It sounded much like his own. A tow-haired boy ran up to ghost Margaret and she smiled, reaching into her purse for a quarter. She kissed the young boy's cheek and he disappeared into the crowd.

She continued her progress up Main Street, with young Hawkeye watching from the shadows. He watched as she floated through the crowd, more of a figment than reality. At one point she sat down and a young girl joined her. They talked and Margaret patted the girl's dark hair and wiped her cheek with a Kleenex. Hawkeye moved closer. The little girl looked up and stared straight at him – and he recognized his own eyes.

With that, Hawkeye woke up. He realized he was drenched, but okay. Margaret was still asleep in his arms, breathing quietly. "Margaret, I think we can get out now. It's just rain, that's all."

He shook her lightly. No response. He got a bit more forceful. Nothing. She was like a wet rag. To his horror, Hawkeye realized she was out cold, and both of them were smeared with blood.

Moving quickly, he propped her against the wall and began shoving the boards away that covered their trench. This unveiled a sickly sky and a tattered camp. Using every bit of strength he had, Hawkeye managed to shove Margaret up over the side of the trench to the ground. Then he boosted himself up and out.

Looking wildly around, he realized the only structure still relatively intact was the Officer's Club. Sophie the mare was calmly grazing by the door. Charles popped out of his trench like a balding gopher. "Pierce, everyone okay?"

Hawkeye ignored him and scooped Margaret up, clumsily carrying her to the club. He laid her on the bar and stumbled around in the half-light until he could find a candle and matches. The weak flame revealed just how nasty Margaret's cut really was. He felt a sharp pang of guilt.

More fumbling behind the bar produced a half-full bottle of vodka and an old rag. Charles burst through the door just in time to see Hawkeye pour most of it over the wound, to sterilize it.

"She get caught in the storm?" Charles asked warily.

"Nope, just had a head-on collision with a door when I wrestled her out of her tent."

"Ye Gods. I found my bag, you're welcome to use it."

Hawkeye smiled. Charles was an ass but when it mattered he was all right. He put the bag on the counter and left to see if everyone else was okay. Margaret needed stitches fast, so there was no time to obsess over being fancy. Hawkeye threaded the needle and got to work. She never flinched.

Outside, Potter, Radar and BJ were taking stock of what was left. The nurses were trying to salvage what they could of the medical supplies and the enlisted men were uprighting the latrine and erecting temporary tents. "The water tower's gone. No fixing that mess," said Potter, stepping over what was left of it.

"Colonel! Look at Sophie!" Radar yelled. The horse whinnied and came trotting up, no worse for wear.

"Sophie, you have good horse sense," smiled Potter. "I knew you'd make it through. But I am wondering about some of the others. Where are Hawkeye and Margaret?"

Radar shugged. Charles walked by, carrying his bedding. "They're in the Officer's Club. Margaret got a good gash on the head. Do tell Hawkeye to return my bag," he said, walking off with as much dignity as he could muster covered in mud and holding a mattress.

In the club, Hawkeye watched Margaret, nearly oblivious to the noise going on outside. The dim candlelight couldn't conceal the rips in the tent that fluttered solemnly in the breeze. Rain began again, just soft, pattering drops. One of the rips was directly above him, so the water splashed off his brow and down his nose. It didn't matter. He was thinking about the appliance place in Crabapple Cove. On his last day there he helped his dad pick out a new automatic washer. It was a first for them – and it would already be very old news by the time he came home. The passage of time was different for him now. Three years seemed like an immeasurable eternity.

He pulled a barstool up and put his cheek next to Margaret's on the bar. Slowly things turned gauzy and he was propelled back to Crabapple Cove and back to Marzetti's Appliances.

"_I don't see a big difference in any of them," he said glumly, walking by the long aisle of washers. Daniel Pierce was standing back, looking a little lost. "The Kelvinator's ugly, the Kenmore sounds like a Mack truck and the Maytag costs the same as an Oldsmobile."_

_Tony Marzetti was not pleased. "Hey Ben, are you ever gonna let your old man make a decision? I don't have all day. We got orders here."_

_Hawkeye looked around. The store was completely empty. His father was looking inside the Maytag with a flashlight. A fine way to be spending your last day at home, dickering over washing machines. If the old semi—automatic hadn't blown its motor this wouldn't have happened and he would be on the beach with a girl or two. _

_The door slid open and the chime rang but none of them looked up. "Hi. Sorry I'm late. I had a meeting," she said. Hawkeye's jaw dropped. There she was, looking ghostly again, but happy. "Are you guys still looking over these things? Get the Maytag. It's worth it."_

_Daniel nodded and Marzetti shook his head. Hawkeye looked into her beautiful green eyes and trembled. "Honey, we should get a new radio while we're here," she smiled. "And it's raining on me."_

_Raining? There wasn't a cloud in the sky._

Except when Hawkeye opened his eyes, he wasn't surrounded by brightly lit appliances anymore and Margaret was awake. Water was pouring on both of them. "Captain, I'm getting soaked," she said weakly. He helped her off the bar and threw an arm around her as she wobbled toward the door.

She took one look at the torn camp and gasped. The Swamp was missing completely, save for their footlockers and what Charles dragged into the pit. Post-Op and the OR were only half-standing. Potter's tent was collapsed and his office was nearly intact save for a few holes in the ceiling. Klinger was busy helping the nurses move into a temporary tent since theirs was lying in a nearby field.

Margaret walked to where her tent had been. Her footlocker was there, lying on its side. Everything else was gone. "I hope the Munchkins like nudist magazines," was all Hawkeye could say. Margaret just sat on her footlocker, looking bedraggled in the rain. "I'm sorry about your stuff, Major," he said quietly.

"My important things are in here," she said glumly, pointing toward her temporary chair. "I guess you get used to fresh starts though, you know?"

Hawkeye sat beside her and rubbed her back. Potter emerged from the rain, looking tired.

"I see you guys are okay for the most part. Margaret, that's quite a header you took there. The Post-Op tent is being mended so we can all dry off and have something to eat. Maybe catch some shut-eye, too. Damn weather," he sighed before stomping off.

Margaret watched him leave. "Ow," she frowned. "What the hell happened to me?"

Hawkeye cleared his throat. "Well, you see, I was just moseying around the camp when the siren went off and I didn't see you…so…I went to get you but you were asleep, so I grabbed you and rain and then…"

"Yes?"

"Your head sort of hit the doorframe on our way out. Oops."

Margaret lifted her hand to the injury and frowned. "How many stitches?"

"Ten," he said nervously.

"Pierce, could you just go?"

Hawkeye stood up and started to back away. She was getting mad. The mud squelched under his shoes. "Are you going to come to Post-Op or just sit out here and drown?" he asked, feeling brave.

"OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

He was furious. The walk to the new tent was a short one but he stomped the whole way. Inside, most of the camp congregated, eating peanut butter sandwiches and drinking beer from the Officer's Club. Hawkeye grabbed a sandwich and a Schlitz and sat in a corner chair by himself.

"Care if I join?" asked BJ, looking less muddy but maybe even more tired than everyone else. "I moved our footlockers out of the rain."

"Thanks."

"Radar and Potter were worried about you guys. Charles says Hot Lips has stitches."

"Uh-huh."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're a scintillating conversationalist?"

Hawkeye sighed and sipped his lukewarm beer. "Sorry. Margaret and I aren't on speaking terms right now. I told her how she got that cut. Look, if she stayed in that tent God knows what would have happened. Instead, I crack her head open trying to get her out and kaboom, she goes from being this warm, tender person to a she-devil," he said sadly.

"Margaret's a tough nut to crack but you've come closer than the rest of us. Give her some time. I'll talk to her and maybe pound some sense into her skull," BJ said with a little smile.

Potter clanged two beer cans together and everyone stopped talking.

"Everyone, this is going to be a long night. Since a lot of the tents won't be replaced until tomorrow, we have to have new sleeping arrangements."

"Nurse's tent! Nurse's tent!"

"Shut up Pierce!" said the Colonel. "The nurses have new quarters so I'll put Margaret in there with you guys for the time being."

The nurses groaned.

"Enlisted quarters will be here in Post-Op. We'll find some bedding. Doctors, you'll be sleeping in my office with me and Radar. Right now, eat up. We cabled Seoul and a supply truck should be here by tomorrow afternoon."

Margaret walked in, soaked to the skin. Klinger gave her a blanket and a sandwich and a beer. She chatted briefly with Potter and then went out the door again, into the rain. Hawkeye watched her. BJ put a hand on his shoulder.

"These things take time," said BJ. "What a mess."


	6. Chapter 6

_Dear Dad,_

_I will say this. Getting back to normal – or back to terrible – in the Army is easy. Everything's almost back to the way it was at the 4077__th__, from the OR to the Mess Tent to the still. The spirit of goodwill and camaraderie after the tornado is gone, as evidenced by the screaming match in OR between Margaret and Charles over a bum set of rubber gloves._

_Still no thaw from her. I guess I'm not expecting one now. We work together a lot. Potter says we make the best surgical team but all we've said lately is about sponges, sutures and suction. _

Hawkeye stopped writing for a minute and glanced around. His bunkmates were both asleep after a long siege. For hours, there was nothing but patients stacked like cordwood around the triage and OR. He sawed off arms and legs and in one case watched an aorta burst in a soldier too gone to even attempt saving. His hands shook now. They shook a lot lately, even as he did delicate cardiac stitching.

In the glare of the headlights, flashlights and sodium lamps during triage, Margaret seemed to glow. His shaking hands ached to touch her.

Hawkeye picked up his pen.

_I hope she knows how terrible I feel about hurting her. You said it wasn't my fault and I understand that. What is it about us that makes normally strong human beings weak around some people? I don't even know if this is a weakness. My head and my heart are really battling it out. I'm hoping I can get some R&R soon so I can think this over without all the added distractions._

"Hey Shakespeare, mind turning out the light?" BJ said weakly. He was still wearing his blood-spattered boots in bed.

"Right," Hawkeye said sourly. He stuffed the letter in his barely-read copy of Nudist Times and snapped off his reading lamp.

Colonel Potter came calling early the next morning. Charles was already out and about, BJ was still snoozing and Hawkeye was just beginning to stir when the colonel's face came into view. "Morning sunshine," Potter smiled. Hawkeye groaned and lifted the scratchy green blanket over his head.

"Today's a big day. You can make some amends today, easy ," Potter said. Hawkeye was confused and pulled the blanket back down.

"For what?"

"For that big welt on the chief nurse's head. Son, I know she's …moody… but I think she's going through a low time. You're nominated to treat her to a nice birthday."

"That's well and good, Colonel, but I don't think she's speaking to me right now," said Hawkeye, sitting up and feeling for his clothes. Potter stopped him.

"You need a shower and shave. Clean everything. I'll even let you use my shaving brush."

Hawkeye frowned. "Do I look and smell that bad?"

"A little ripe. I'm sure Charles would let you use some of that dishwater he calls aftershave too."

"Why? There's plenty of other…"

Potter gave Hawkeye a tight smile. He knew about them. Underneath all that anger and sadness the two of them carried was a … something. He watched Margaret's eyes when they leveled on Hawkeye. To Potter, there was longing.

Hawkeye slapped his hands on his bony knees. "OK, OK. I'll get cleaned up. The things I don't DO for this Army!" he moaned. Potter slapped him on the back.

"Atta boy. We'll get some things together and show her a hell of a day."

In the shower, though he sang, Hawkeye turned Potter's conversation over in his mind. Birthdays in Korea were the worst. The best you could hope for was something sweet, a little booze and a letter from home. He spent his last birthday deflowering one of Margaret's nurses. The appeal of mindless sex slipped in the recent months. His last encounter was Margaret in the hut and that was something different. Any desire to sleep with anyone other than her flew right out the door. Hell, even Charles was getting more than he was.

He was still humming nervously on the way back to the Swamp. BJ was up, shining his shoes. "Wow, look what the Fuller Brush man dragged in. I haven't seen you so clean since…uhhh, I haven't seen you so clean. What's the occasion?"

"Margaret's birthday. Potter's on me to do something for her."

BJ raised his eyebrows. "I see."

"Yeah, I don't either. "

Hawkeye put on his cleanest uniform and brushed, gargled and spat. From top to toe he felt pretty good save for the butterflies. He bade BJ goodbye and headed for Col. Potter's office.

Radar was playing with the radio when Hawkeye walked in. Potter was nowhere in sight. "Hey Radar, Potter was on me about doing something for Major Houlihan today. Where the hell is he?" asked Hawkeye, impatiently.

"Hawkeye, he's with a patient…but wait…"

Radar dove under a desk and came back up with a wicker picnic basket. "He had the Mess Tent pack this up for you this morning."

Hawkeye winced and said, "Great. Now Margaret can take me out in the woods and or barter me to the enemy for three Spam sandwiches and two bottles of lemonade."

Radar didn't say anything. He simply thrust the basket at Hawkeye and went back to work on the radio. Hawkeye rolled his eyes and tottered back out the door.

Something amazing happened after the storm. Father Mulcahy's garden actually grew. While they looked a little small and withered, actual vegetables were growing in the Korean clay. "If that's not a miracle, I don't know what is," said the Father, standing back , spade in hand. Hawkeye admired the small patch, clapping Mulcahy on the back. "Oh, I have something else for your basket. Hang on," Mulcahy said, dashing toward his tent.

The Father emerged with a bottle of wine and a little bag of cherry tomatoes he picked that morning. "I thought these would cheer up the Major. When Potter told me what you were doing for her, I washed these off to donate to the cause. Maybe we'll see more miracles soon."

Although a _don't bet on it_ came to mind, Hawkeye graciously accepted the bottle and the bag and packed them into the already-heavy hamper. Father Mulcahy turned back to his watering can and Hawkeye trudged the 20 steps to Margaret's door. He knocked lightly. No answer.

So he figured she was in the latrine and put the basket down, whistling through his teeth. Klinger sauntered by in a lovely summer dress and wicker hat, waving a handkerchief. Something loud crashed in the Mess Tent, probably a coffee carafe falling over. You had to hit that table just right, but oh boy…

"Pierce? What do you want?"

Hawkeye nearly jumped out of his skin. Margaret was in the doorway, dressed but looking pale. He could see a slight glint of sunlight bounce off a bottle of scotch sitting on her desk.

"Well?"

For a moment he forgot why he was there. And then he got a little angry. Margaret was sizing him up and he was in no mood to argue.

"Ah, happy birthday. I was going to ask if you wanted to have a picnic but I guess you don't. I'll have to eat these tomatoes all by myself," he said, picking up the basket and turning around.

"No! Wait! Tomatoes? And did you shave?" she asked incredulously.

"Yeah."

He turned and looked at her. She still had a bandage over her eye, but it was a smaller one now. She looked at him, the basket and then at him again. "I was…I think…I think I'd like a picnic. I think I would," Margaret said softly. Hawkeye's heart just melted. She shut the door and stepped out, squinting at the sunlight.

They walked down a short country road to the open field where Klinger once went hang gliding. Neither said much. Margaret opened the basket and carefully took out the tomatoes and the wine. Hawkeye dug further in and found two mugs, two bottles of lemonade, two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, two chicken legs and some cookies that couldn't have come from anyone but Mrs. Potter. At the bottom was a green blanket, so he spread it on the ground and laid out their little feast.

Margaret sat stiffly across from him against a tree and accepted everything he offered. "Oh God, I haven't had a fresh tomato in God-Knows-when," said Margaret as she ate her fifth. But otherwise they ate in silence, watching the wind blow across the top of the grass.

They got down to the cookies and the wine. Hawkeye opened the bottle and passed it to Margaret. He didn't pour it into a mug. He wanted to see what she'd do. She took a swig and passed it back to him. He moved closer to her against the tree and they passed the bottle back and forth until nothing was left.

Now, this particular tree was Hawkeye's premiere nooky sight for a long time, before he got lazy and just used the supply room. He knew Margaret and Frank liked to come out here too. "If trees could talk…" he started.

"Yeah. If it could type you'd have the makings of a good dime store novel," she agreed.

"Well. It would get its twigs stuck in the space between the letters."

He caught the ghost of a smile on her face.

"Margaret, how else can I tell you I'm sorry? I thought I was saving your life and instead I almost ended it. We were just finding common ground and I miss talking to you about it."

"I shouldn't have been so mad. You really were pretty brave. Rescue me, then murder me. I should have seen it coming."

Now Hawkeye smiled. Margaret smiled back and leaned against him. "Thanks for the picnic. No Spam either," she said. Hawkeye knew she couldn't stand that canned meat.

Then …in the distance…an explosion. Both of them jumped up, looking around wildly. The noise came from the direction of the 4077th. They looked at each other and took off running.


	7. Chapter 7

Hawkeye was the first to arrive back at the camp. Dust was still settling and people were running by so quickly he couldn't reach out. Margaret burst beside him, breathing heavily. For some reason, he could hear her sharp intake of breath over the din. "What the hell?" she panted, looking around wildly, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand and clutching Hawkeye's arm with the other.

His eyes finally settled on Charles, who was standing half in and half out of The Swamp, dressed in his bathrobe and wearing only one slipper. He'd obviously been roused from a deep sleep.

"Charles! What's going on?" Margaret yelled. Charles just gave her a gimlet glance and drew the bathrobe tighter around his waist. "I guess he didn't hear me," she mumbled.

Finally, Potter emerged from the dust. "Damn, am I glad to see you two. A couple of shells hit the minefield and all hell broke loose. Far as I can tell no one's hurt bad, just some folks stunned by the noise and a few fragment injuries. Thank God," sighed Potter, before he rushed away. Hawkeye and Margaret looked at each other. You just can't get too comfortable when there's a war on.

After an afternoon digging out shell fragments and treating earaches, Hawkeye mourned his lost picnic with Margaret. He headed out again to the tree and found her sitting under it once again. She patted the ground.

"Join me? The food's gone but I have a couple of beers, you know, to take the edge off," she smiled. Hawkeye plopped on the soft ground and accepted a bottle. It was only slightly lukewarm.

They sat silently until dusk, watching the sky turn from blue to pink. Margaret yawned at one point. She laid her head on Hawkeye's shoulder and he draped an arm around her back.

The stars were very bright that evening. They cast enough light for Hawkeye to see Margaret's hands in the gloom. They were clasped tightly, tensely.

"The night before I had to leave Crabapple Cove I went down to the beach and sat on my favorite rock. I wanted to remember, I guess, because I knew when I'd come back things would be different. The sea hardly changes, neither does the town, but I would be different. I guess I didn't know how different," he said softly.

"I would have thought you'd be on the beach with a girl or two," said Margaret.

"Nope. I wanted to be but my father insisted I come along and pick out a new clotheswasher. That took all day. We only have one appliance store in Crabapple Cove and it took all day to choose between the three washers they had in stock."

"I hope you got a Maytag," said Margaret. Hawkeye shook a little internally.

"We did. My dad says it works like a charm."

"I plan to get one when I get settled down. I've never had one before. And a dishwasher. And a really nice car, maybe a Buick," she said.

"I hope you get everything you want, Margaret. You're always welcome in Crabapple Cove, you know that. Come on up and eat lobster til you burst."

She lifted her head and he kissed her cheek. "Come on. It's getting cold out here. Let's go get more booze," she offered, scrambling to get up.

In the Officer's Club, the crowd was light. Most were exhausted from all the excitement of the day. BJ and Klinger were playing cards with Potter at the bar. Hawkeye noticed BJ and Potter winking at each when he walked in with Margaret.

"Hey, over here!" called BJ. "Come watch me beat Klinger."

"Fat chance. I got three bucks riding on a hot hand," said Klinger. Potter coughed in the haze of cigar smoke.

Igor brought out some Scotch and Father Mulcahy brought in some radishes, still warm from the dirt. They all ate and talked but Margaret never left Hawkeye's side. Peppy swing music blared from the jukebox, but no one had the energy to Lindy or jitterbug.

But then "Moonlight Serenade" came on.

"Shall we dance, Major?" Hawkeye didn't wait for an answer. They joined a few other couples near the jukebox. At first they danced cordially, aware of the room. As the song went on, Margaret hooked an arm around his shoulders and he pulled her close. Her cheek was firmly pressed against his shoulder. Hawkeye dropped a kiss on top of her head and felt Margaret's breathing increase. His heart felt like it would burst from his chest. He didn't see BJ and Potter smiling in the corner, card game forgotten.

When the song – and the song afterward ended – they stepped apart. The small crowd was thinning. "Margaret, I'll walk you home," he mumbled. She looked dazed, but took his arm. BJ yelled something but Hawkeye didn't hear it.

Outside the stars were even brighter in their intensity. Just looking at the sky, you be anywhere, even back on a rugged Maine beach with a full moon and the waves crashing at your feet. It was only when you looked down that the olive drab rose, but it never quite blotted out the night.

"Beautiful tonight," she said slowly.

"It really is," he agreed.

They were at her door.

"I ahhhh," they both said, turning to face each other.

Margaret swallowed. Hawkeye could hear the dull thud of his heartbeat.

He thought of the night in the hut. He thought catching her crying over the dog. The arguements. Frank. Donald. They way her hair illuminated softly in the moonlight. The cracked doorframe and the small scar on her forehead.

And he kissed her. Softly.

She kissed him back, softly. There was no joke to play, no fear, no imminent death. Just them, under the stars.

Margaret stepped back and smiled. Hawkeye could see a glimmer of tears in her eyes and beyond that, a faraway look.

"Goodnight," she said, grasping his hand.

"Goodnight," he said back, and watched her walk in, shut the door and click on the light.

BJ was in front of The Swamp, sipping a martini and staring at the sky. Hawkeye nodded at him and sat down, accepting a glass.

"Everything go okay?"

Hawkeye smiled and nodded. This was new. The tornado, while unexpected, changed a lot of things. Whatever it is that he and Margaret had now would change. Deep down, he hoped and prayed this would work.

"It's a beautiful night," said BJ.

"It's a beautiful world," smiled Hawkeye, as he leaned back to stare at the heavens.


End file.
